


Sore Muscles

by RogueBait



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:52:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3566993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBait/pseuds/RogueBait
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas and Lavellan's physical and emotional relationship is well established. After weeks spent dutifully ridding Emprise du Lion of the Red Templar threat, the Inquisition is back at Skyhold for a much needed respite. The night of their return, Lavellan seeks out Solas, but finds an injury sustained during combat to be more troublesome than she initially thought. Thankfully, Solas is up to his role as healer, and a gentle massage soon turns into something more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Lavellan pads quietly down the abandoned hall, illuminated by colourless moonbeams cast through high, gilded windows and a singular, centric torch. She draws her fingers into the fine weave of her shoulder wrap, pulling it close over her thin night tunic. The rough velvet of the grand carpets press beneath her bare feet as she moves. Ridding Emprise du Lion of the Red Templars has taken its toll, and she is glad for the sanctuary that Skyhold's thick walls offer. Weeks camping in frigid settlements under near constant threat of attack is hardly something one can maintain without an occasional respite, no matter how brief.

She nears the end of the great hall, and detours to a thick, wooden door standing at one side. It's ajar, and she hangs back a moment to peer through the gap. Skyhold is strangely silent during the witching hour, with most everyone sleeping or shut away, exhausted or absorbed in their own private affairs. But in the rotunda, Solas remains.

A small smile pulls at her as she spots one of his pale, elegant arms dangling from the side of the large study chair, its high back to the doorway. She waits, and listens. Soft, steady breathing reaches her keen ears, and she moves quietly into the room, rounding the side of the chair and gliding to a stop. Solas is asleep, head lolled slightly, a leather-bound book still resting loosely in one hand, open. Warmth spreads through her, and she simply watches him for several moments, indulgent.

She angles her head to the side, looking down at the thin yellowed pages laid open in his lap, and realizes with some dismay that she cannot read the words, save for a few dotted here and there. They are in Elven; all of them. A pang of regret stings her, and she huffs a quiet sigh, turning to move toward the large beige couch at the side of the room. She slumps down into it somewhat more heavily than she intends, and whips her wrap from her shoulders, flicking it over her lap in one motion, and reaches to tuck her bare legs beneath her. Her right forearm twinges painfully at the movement, and she hisses in a sharp breath, grabbing it with a grimace.

“My heart. Are you hurt?” Solas asks, concerned voice heavy with sleep.

“Oh, it's just a pulled muscle,” Lavellan replies, looking up somewhat sheepishly. “Did I wake you?” She's certain she's pulled him from some fascinating memory of the fade, judging by the slightly wandering look in his eyes.

“Yes,” Solas replies. “But I am glad you did.” He smiles, rising with a slight stretch as he slides a narrow silk marker into the book, placing it on the desk before him, pausing a moment to blink at it as he draws his mind to the present. He approaches her slowly then, hands outstretched, and she places her slender hands in his, his fingers gently folding over her own. They're comfortably cool, and he strokes a thumb over the side of her hand, gazing down at her as he stands before her.

“I'm sorry, my love.” Lavellan's brows knit together. “I know you could have used a solid night's sleep.” Her mouth quirks briefly at this, as she considers just how much sleep he has been deprived of as of late, on her account. “We all could, for that matter. After the time we've had.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, ma sa'lath,” Solas says, giving her hands the faintest of squeezes. “Drifting off in a chair is hardly conducive to a good night's sleep. I should be thanking you. Besides, I would have been disappointed to learn I missed you, come morning. I had meant to wait for you.”

His voice is low and sweet, eyes darkly opalescent in the candlelight, and she grips his hands tighter as she moves to pull herself up, urged by a need to bring her lips to his. A sharp pain abruptly shoots up her arm and she falters, crumpling forward into his arms, shoulder wrap falling to the floor as she feels a consuming invasion of pins and needles flow over her limb, and she yelps in pain, pulling her arm quickly to her side, grasping.

“Fenedhis,” Lavellan rasps. Solas' hands are on her shoulders, and his eyes harden in concern as he focuses on her grimacing face.

“You  _are_  hurt. Come,” he says, guiding her lightly as he sits on the couch, motioning next to him. “Sit.”

Lavellan sits alongside him, still favouring her arm, and feels Solas reach across to guide her legs up on the couch, and she obliges, rotating her body to lean back across his lap, head coming to rest against the slope of the couch's arm, legs lightly bent over the length of the cushions. She breathes out in a small sigh and gazes up at him.

“Well. I feel better already,” Lavellan says.

“Hush,” Solas replies, a small smile playing a the corners of his mouth. “May I?” He motions to her arm, and lifts it gently with both hands at her hum of consent.

He looks at it intently, moving purposeful hands over her skin as he gently prods and tests. His eyes narrow as his fingers press against a slightly swollen hump, the skin somewhat more taught than it should be, and very warm to the touch. Lavellan winces, and he ceases his investigation with a low hum.

“I believe you are correct. It appears to be nothing more than a pulled muscle,” Solas says. Lavellan's eyes narrow slightly. “A badly pulled muscle.”

“Yes. That's what I said,” Lavellan replies. “But thank you for your expert diagnosis, oh admirable healer.” She moves to get up with a little snort, and he tightens his grip, stilling her with solid arms.

“I did not say there was nothing I could do to help,” Solas says, relaxing his grip as she ceases her attempt to extricate herself, and after a moment's hesitation falls back to his lap with a sigh, gazing up at him. “If you will allow it? It must be very sore indeed.”  _For it to affect your mood_ _so_ , she suspects he keeps from saying.

“Yes, alright then,” she says, settling into him more comfortably as she closes her eyes and thrusts the sore arm into the empty air before her, suppressing the urge to make a face as it twinges badly once more. She knows she's being juvenile, but the breadth of her exhaustion has finally caught up with her and the petty annoyances dig deep. She takes a slow breath in and out, urging herself to relax.

As the air leaves her lungs in a long whir, she feels both of Solas' hands move slowly to her arm and rotate it so the softer side beneath is facing upwards. He begins massaging it; slow, moderate, methodical motions, movements stretching in long sweeps from elbow to wrist. Lavellan issues a little groan of contentment at the small relief beginning to spread through the torn muscles, and he smiles slightly to himself, modifying his movements to increase the strength and pressure of his touch as he rotates the pads of his thumbs over the tendons beneath.

Quiet hums and groans continue to roll from Lavellan's mouth in the minutes that pass as Solas works over the entirety of her arm. Her eyes open in mild surprise as she feels a sudden, intense cooling sensation flow deep through her arm, as though it were abruptly submerged in liquid ice. She looks at her exposed flesh, brightly illuminated in a brilliant glow of crystalline blue as it pours from Solas' hands, fingers spread as he cradles her arm. The glow of it casts the line of his jaw in sharp relief, and his eyes are intent, focused. The worst of the lingering pain all but evaporates as the magic courses through her injury, but then something begins to pull within her arm, pinching and pushing. The cold intensifies to a bright, popping white, and she's about to pull away as the bizarre sensation nearly becomes too much when it ceases altogether, room dimming as the spell fades as quickly as it came.

Solas continues to hold her arm lightly in his palms, turning his face to hers with a satisfied smile at her mild look of wonderment. Her arm feels cool, light, and a slight, not unpleasant tingling lingers from the focus of his spell. She meets his eyes and adjusts her expression to one of feigned boredom.

“Is that all?” Lavellan asks, blinking. “And here I thought you were going to give me a proper massage, but it seems you're content to simply magic your way out of it.”

“You wound me, vhenan,” Solas replies, smirking as he moves his gaze back to her arm, continuing his previous ministrations. “I would not dare attempt such a disparaging manoeuvre.”

“Good,” she replies, closing her eyes once more, suppressing a smug grin as she relaxes into his touch.

He works his fingers over the area, sliding thumbs over ridges of muscle. He then shifts approach again, wrapping the entirety of his hand around her slender, defined arm and squeezing as he pulls his hand down and over hers, alternating hands in a fluid, looping motion. After great attention on the healing digit, he gently places her forearm down and works steady hands over her upper arms, then up to her shoulders, disengaging his right hand from working on the same spot as his left to reach across to her other shoulder. He presses and rotates kneading thumbs into the defined flesh, finding knots and working with extra care.

Lavellan cracks open her eyes, watching Solas. His expression is mild, focused yet relaxed. Content. His full lips curl into a slight smile as he continues to move, surely aware of Lavellan's gaze.

“Is everything to your liking, Inquisitor?” he asks, moving both hands under her head, slowly massaging the base of her skull with slender fingers. She closes her eyes, sighing.

“Yes,” she replies, letting several moments pass before continuing, the ripples of pleasure tingling through her body as he releases muscles she hadn't even been aware were caught in tension. She opens her eyes once more, reaching up to his neck as she pulls his face close to hers. “But you're making me awfully wet.” Her lips brush against the side of his ear as she whispers, and she releases him.


	2. Chapter 2

He pauses for a moment, then continues to massage her in silence, face utterly impassive as he kneads his fingers into her skin. His face gives no hint of a reaction to her words beyond an initial, subtle tug at the corner of his mouth. Lavellan searches his face.

“Did you hear me?” she questions.

“Perfectly,” he replies, staring intently at his hands as he works. Lavellan watches Solas in puzzlement.

Solas continues to rub at the base of her skull and neck with one nimble hand, while the other slides from her neck to the front of her chest, fingers tracing down her clavicle, palm sliding between her breasts. One thumb brushes against the sloping swell in a slow arc as his hand comes to rest momentarily. Lavellan moans slightly, arching her back to his touch, and he splays the fingers of the hand cradling her head, snaking them through her hair with a squeeze.

He slides his other hand down from her breasts to her stomach, pressing lightly as he rocks his hand over her in slow, molten motions, moving steadily lower. Lavellan squirms slightly, growing impatient at his measured touch.

“Tease,” she accuses.

“Patience, vhenan. I have barely begun,” he replies, clearly suppressing a smile. If she weren't already so painfully aroused, she might simply get up and leave, the smug fool.

Instead, she bites her lip and begins using the entirety of her body to encourage him. Subtle movements, gentle flexes, small, writhing motions during long breaths designed to entice. She can feel his growing response against her side, and draws an arm back in an attempt to reach under his tunic, but he intercepts her hand and brings it to his mouth, planting a soft kiss on her open palm.

"Let me focus on you, my heart," he says softly, hesitating slightly before continuing in a low voice. “Ar tu sulahn'nehn.”

Prickling heat spreads over her in response, and she's not entirely sure why. The meaning of his words is lost on her, but context aside, she's fairly certain from his tone alone that her instinctive response is likely quite appropriate. She looks up at Solas, lips parted, and notices with some pleasure that a slight pink blush has swept over his ears, and now spreads across his softly freckled cheeks.

“Fine. I will allow it,” she replies. “ _If_ you actually get around to it. Preferably within the next hundred years, please.”

He breaks in a grin then, chuckling as he releases her hand. Lavellan clasps her fingers placidly over her stomach, shutting her eyes and raising her brows with a small, expectant clearing of the throat. She feels one hand lightly stroking the hair from her forehead, and relaxes, a small exhale whirring from her nose. His fingers glide through her hair, nails faintly raking against her skull, and his second hand falls atop hers, unclasping them to place them at her sides. He draws his hand up over her abdomen, over her breasts, onto the exposed skin of her upper chest, and slides a warm hand beneath the loose neckline of her tunic.

Lavellan breathes a low, airy moan when the palm of his hand meets with her breast, sliding over it, cupping and kneading gently. The fingers tangled in her hair snake and draw intangible things against her head with a feathery light touch, and he intensifies the pressure he exerts on her chest, bringing thumb and forefinger together in a firm grip against her nipple. Lavellan curses quietly, arching, opening her eyes to gaze at Solas. His countenance is outwardly calm, but the muscles flexing at his jaw and the slight flair of his nostrils as he breathes betray his mild exterior.

“Solas,” Lavellan begins, and he abruptly removes his hand from her hair, sliding his arm behind her neck to allow his other hand entrance below her shirt to take the place of his right hand as he moves it to her calf. She makes a noise of approval at his quick response, draping her legs open slightly. The fabric of her tunic slips up her thighs as she adjusts her position, and Solas slides a hand up her leg, ghosting his fingertips under the hem, tickling the soft skin of her inner thigh.

She writhes slightly, and he firms his touch, pressing his hand up her thigh, the fabric of her thin tunic gathering over his wrist as he goes. He feels an increasing warmth near the tips of his fingers and stops. He lets his hand rest there for several beats, unmoving, before lifting it in a tortuously ghosting motion over the curve of her mound, barely letting the soft curls beneath brush his palm as it passes it over. Lavellan moans, and he rests his hand on her lower stomach, rotating it so his fingertips tickle the fine crease where stomach meets hair.

She stares at him heavily, and he continues skirting around her mound with a feather light touch, fingertips tracing, teasing. His movements slow to a maddening pace, and he slides his hand over her mound, middle finger just barely gliding over her entrance. Lavellan grabs Solas' arm hard, quick as a viper, and bucks her hips up and into his hand before he knows what's happened. She moans lewdly as his finger presses deep into her wet core, and Solas' mouth comes open with a small hiss. He looks to her face, dark eyes locking hers as Lavellan holds his arm, grinding slowly against his hand.

Solas stares at her devotedly, burning with the noises she makes as she takes her pleasure from him as she will. Her knuckles are white as she clenches, and Lavellan feels the muscles of his forearm flex as Solas pulls back slightly to allow a second finger entrance. She sighs emphatically at the increased pressure, his fingers filling her, moving and sliding within, and she drops her hands from his arm to blindly grasp at the couch.

A deep, gratifying ripple courses through her body as Solas finds the pleasurable spot at the front of her core, firm fingers pressing and beckoning with a steady pace. She exhales a ragged breath and his movements strengthen, pulling a primal groan from her throat. Solas bites back a reactionary moan, flushing as his fingers fuck her with unflinching strength, the motion of his hand rocking her hips as he pushes her towards her brink. Lavellan's eyes are clenched shut, her chest heaving as he grips one breast, while light, sucking noises emanate from the motions between her legs.

Lavellan begins panting, harsh and loud, head pitched back. Solas is overcome with desire for her and grabs the back of her neck with one hand, pulling her roughly to his mouth, lips crushing hers. She cries out against his lips, squirming and arching as she's stimulated almost to discomfort, and he releases her neck. She grips the front of his shirt, folding into him, pleasurable jolts causing her body to shake.

Solas quickly licks the fingertips of his free hand and reaches around her waist, pressing his hand between her legs, seeking out her clit. Slick fingers find it quickly, and he begins rotating and rubbing over the sensitive spot as he continues moving his fingers firmly within her. Lavellan all but shrieks, spasming hard against him as her body climbs to the edge of an incredibly powerful climax. Solas kisses her neck, raking his teeth lightly over her skin as he whispers endearments she doesn't hear, and she's there, falling. She climaxes hard in an unyielding, forceful rush, keening loudly as her body breaks in convulsions.

Her head swims, and she writhes and hitches as she weathers the storm. The movements within her begin to slow, and as her moaning tapers and her heaving breath steadies once again, Solas gently slides his fingers from her clit, eliciting another small moan, and moves his hand up her side, squeezing her to him in a light hug. She sighs, dropping the side of her head against his chest, and he rests his mouth against her, breathing in the scent of her hair, notes of her exertion mingling with its pleasant smell.

Lavellan's breathing finally returns to normal, and Solas gently slides his fingers from her core, raising a mirthful brow at his hand's utterly soaked state. Lavellan looks up from his chest lazily, smiling drunkenly, and Solas lets his hand drop to his side. She bends to reach down to the floor, and grabs hold of her shoulder wrap, reaching for Solas' hand.

“Here,” she says, pulling his arm to her as she wipes it clean.

“That was not necessary, emma lath.” Solas smiles at her warmly. “But thank you.”

“Oh I think it was necessary,” Lavellan replies. “In fact, it was practically a hazard. Just think what might have happened if you'd gone to grip something. It'd fly right out of your hand.”

Solas chuckles, a full, low sound, and Lavellan joins in with a short hiss of laughter.

They kiss then, softly, deeply. Wet lips lingering sweetly as they hold each other close. Minutes pass, candles flickering off the painted walls, the soft light enveloping the pair as they embrace. After a time, Lavellan exhales in a long, contented sigh, and tucks her head under his chin as she folds herself against him. She closes her eyes.

“I take it you are feeling better?” he asks.

“Yes, much,” she replies, muffled against him. “But I'm afraid I can't move. So you're going to have to stay here forever.”

Solas laughs at first, but quickly becomes quiet. Minutes pass, and Lavellan finds herself beginning to drift off, but something nags at her and she opens heavy lids, leaning back to look at Solas. His eyes are distant, down-turned and unfocused. His brows pulled together ever so slightly. Lavellan cocks her head to the side, observing him with some concern.

“Solas? Is everything alright?”

He breathes in, blinking, features adjusting to a small smile as he meets her gaze.

“Yes, of course,” he replies, pulling her to him, placing a tender kiss to her forehead. She knows he's holding something back, can feel the distance, a shielding mask falling into place. She sighs, deciding this is neither the time nor the place to begin such a discussion, and grabs him firmly by his jaw with both hands, directing his gaze to her own. She fixes him with an intense stare.

“You know I love you, don't you?” she asks, and Solas breathes out deeply, face full of emotion.

“Of course I do, my heart.”

“Good,” Lavellan replies. “Then let's go to bed.” Lavellan moves to rise, but Solas grips her suddenly, sweeping one arm under her legs, another behind her back, tucking under her arm.

“Allow me,” he says, rising with her in his arms. “Since you are incapable of movement.” Lavellan wraps her arms around his neck, laughing with thanks, and blows out the remaining candle burning on his desk as they hastily pass. This is enough for now. There would be time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vhenan - (my) heart  
> Ar tu sulahn'nehn - I will make you sing in joy  
> Emma lath - my love
> 
> Many thanks to laurelinvanyar at BSN for translation assistance!

**Author's Note:**

> Ma sa'lath – my one love  
> Fenedhis - a common Elven curse  
> Vhenan - (my) heart


End file.
